I try to be a good mom, but I’m sometimes quick to let fly with words that have no business falling on little pitchers’ ears. In the past, that hasn’t been a problem; Brian has mild autism, and imitation didn’t come naturally to him when he was younger.

Lately, his skills have really improved, however, and I’m thrilled that he’s been picking up phrases and using them in the correct context. But a bad word is a bad word, and if I keep this up, I’m going to have to wash my mouth out with soap, especially with my other son around.

Timmy, 3, is a little tape recorder. I’ve put him off the scent of certain phrases I’d rather he’d forget, but he’s good at finding words on his own. Just the other day, he was so enraged at Brian that he said the F-word, twice:

"Furball! Furball!'' he yelled.

"Who are you calling furball, furball?'' Brian shouted.

"Hey, hey, hey,'' I said. And then, in indignation bordering on horror: "We don’t call each other fur ball. That’s not nice.''

"Sorry, Brian,'' Timmy said.

A few days later, Brian further demonstrated his name-calling vocabulary. He and Timmy were arguing over who was going to get to play with the Lightning McQueen car that had mud spots painted on it, and who was going to get stuck with the clean McQueen.

"You old goose!'' Brian yelled at Timmy. "You old hen!''

I’m not to blame for that piece of preschooler profanity; Brian lifted those lines from one of his favorite books, "Sam and the Firefly.'' Still, the intention was to be hurtful, even if the words were covered with feathers.

"Brian, we don’t call each other names,'' I reminded him, half expecting to be called an old duck.

After a long pause, Brian grudgingly muttered, "Sorry, Timmy.''

"That’s OK,'' said Timmy, clucking with delight as he made off with the dirty Lightning McQueen.

Abby, who is 7, never really got into name-calling when she was the boys’ age. Maybe it’s because they weren’t old enough to take her toys or get into her stuff. Now, when either one of her brothers says or does something she doesn’t like, she reacts like a schoolmarm who has just discovered a whoopee cushion on her chair.